Page 29 of Break The Ice

“Wren is going to war,” Raider says in amusement.

“You didn’t tell him you scared them all into leaving us both alone?”

“Nah, he’s hot when he’s angry.”

I close my eyes, trying to forget the past and remember that I’m safe. I chant it until I fall asleep.

I wake up fromthe nightmare covered in sweat and feeling sick. There’s this itchy, trapped feeling that has me slipping from my pack’s arms and heading in the direction of the backyard.

On my way, I catch movement. Immediately, I think of Wren and wonder if he’s going to be able to look at me like I’m normal.

But it’s not Wren.

Ryann is standing by the side of the window, peering down onto the street. There is something about her furtive movements that makes all the hair on my neck stand on end.

It occurs to me that with her hiding from the police, she could be a criminal, but I don’t think so. She looks like something I recognise. Like me. Hunted.

“Ryann?”

She jumps and turns with a smile as fake as the ones I’ve been known to throw.

“Morning, Kit, you’re up early.”

“I am.”

Her smile falls, and she looks at the window. “I was just looking out on the street. I’ve never stayed in a neighbourhood as nice as this one.”

I nod my head. Unsure whether to believe her or not. I want to, but I think we both know better.

She clears her throat and gestures to the stairs. “Shall we?”

I abruptly pull my gaze from her, aware I’m staring. It’s just that there is something about her that only exists inside her. This glow and aura of defiance, of complex intricacies that make her as mysterious as the deepest parts of the ocean.

Who is she? I can almost feel the lies and secrets like a whisper against my skin.

Violet eyes hold a violent tempest inside them, hair that’s flat and unassuming in shadows turns to fire in the sun. Her smile is potent, a quick flash revealing her inner self. She’s muscular with small breasts and an ass that has me thinking all sorts of inappropriate thoughts. Who is she?

“You need clothes!” I blurt out. “I gave you some, but I’ve found more. Come down and pick what you want.”

She follows me, which is both a relief and somewhat distressing. Do I look okay? Can she tell I’m freaking out?

I fumble the lock on the door before getting it open with a curse. She follows me with a cloud of brownie perfume that is unusually strong for a beta.

How does she have so much confidence?

I point to the pile of clothes and choke as she yanks her t-shirt over her head and shimmies out of her jeans. The tiny scrap of lavender lace isn’t nearly big enough and,at the same time, is far too big. I want to tear it off her with my teeth. To think, I made the underwear that is now hugging her skin.

She’s not wearing a bra, and I find myself mesmerised by the way her breasts move as she pulls her clothes on and off. She’d be a handful, perfect.

I rip my eyes away, only to find her smiling at me. It’s not a smile I recognise, but I don’t think she’s uncomfortable. She pulls on an a-symmetrical shirt and a pair of shorts that look like a skirt.

“This will do.”

“You don’t want to see yourself?” I clear my throat. “In the mirror?”

That smile again. “I don’t think I need to see myself in the mirror, Kit.”

I look down at her long, tanned legs and get a myriad of ideas flooding my head. Excitement simmers in my mind. I’ve got a whole new line, something that could be worn by anyone or a rock star on stage.

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